


Rebuilt

by Jael



Series: Rebuilding Bridges [5]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Battle Couple, F/M, Rebuilt Relationship, Team Dynamics, Teamwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 09:38:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16426907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jael/pseuds/Jael
Summary: For a month or so after the events of "Me vs. You" and "Wager," the members of Team Legends have watched Sara and Snart slowly rebuild their friendship and learn to work together again. Eventually, everyone knows, something will have to give.(Of course, knowing the Legends, it might take something strange to give them that push.)





	Rebuilt

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place a month or so after "Me vs. You" and "Wager." Many thanks to LarielRomeniel for the beta!

It’s been an interesting month, all right.

But honestly, Mick thinks, it’s been a pretty good one.

No one’s quite sure what’s going on with Sara and Snart—including, perhaps, Sara and Snart. By Mick’s best guess, they haven’t slept together again, but they’re…easier with each other. Frankly, they’re acting much the way they used to, way back in the beginning, after St. Roch and before the Oculus, all circling around each other and card games and eye sex with a side of innuendo. They even got in a bar fight, trying to apprehend a leprechaun who’d completely bought into the stereotype and taken over an Irish pub in Boston.

That was fun. Mick approved.

And when Sara and Snart are actually talking, and working together instead of against each other, they make a damned good team. While Mick knows he and Snart make a good team too, Snart had been right—that dynamic had always been between the brains and the brawn before, and that’s changed a little now. Mick isn’t proud…he knows he’ll always be the brawn…but he’s used to working with others now, Sara and Haircut and Pretty and New Girl and Charlie, and he doesn’t instinctively look to Snart to tell him what to do these days.

And that could have hurt a lot (and would have once, he thinks), but miraculously it doesn’t, especially not now, when the pieces are starting to fit together again, probably better than they ever did before. He and Snart, they’ll always have each other’s backs.

Crew’s just bigger, that’s all.

Even Nate's gotten used to Snart’s presence on the team. Sara had pulled him aside and although Mick doesn’t know what she’d said, the historian was rather more thoughtful after that. And then Snart pulled him out of an ambush by a group of what Constantine called redcaps, which were essentially lawn gnomes with attitude and big honkin’ teeth. Teeth capable of rending metal, which would have gone very badly for Pretty if Snart hadn’t dropped into their midst, laying about with his gun, clearing a path for them both to run for it.

Yeah, since then, even Nate has acknowledged Snart’s place here. Haircut, of course, is still pleased as punch the former thief was back. Zari herself has taken a great liking to Snart, and Charlie, while still dubious, has inexplicably decided that any friend of Mick’s is a friend of hers.

(Mick still can’t figure out why he’s Charlie’s favorite person on board. It pleases him and unnerves him in equal measure. She looks like Amaya, who he’d come to...to care for...but she’s also a badass, fire-breathing shapeshifter. Which is _awesome_ , but...why him?)

Constantine, of course, is being his usual obnoxious self. He’s stopped barging into the cargo bay or wherever Sara and Snart are hanging out, trying to catch them at something, ever since he nearly got one of Sara’s knives through his eye. But he still thinks he deserves that bottle of whiskey, or maybe it’s just an excuse to be a prat (to use his own word).

(Given the man’s tendency to poke at things he really shouldn’t be poking at, Mick honestly wonders how he’s survived so long. One of life’s mysteries.)

And then there’s the Time Bureau.

Gary keeps watching Snart like he’s afraid the other man's going to go full supervillain right before his eyes. (Mick still thinks he peed himself the first time Snart actually spoke to him.) Ava, meanwhile, has accepted their assertions that Snart isn’t what she thought he was—but now she clearly suspects there’s something up between her ex and the newcomer, if Mick’s any judge. And she’s clearly not sure how she feels about that.

That’s fun. “Fun,” in this case, meaning “likely to blow up and be a problem at the worst possible moment.” Mick has decided, however, that it’s not _his_ problem. Not yet, anyway.

At any rate, the balance isn’t perfect, but it works. And who knows how long they could have continued like this, really, if it hadn’t been for the hydras.

* * *

“The _what_?”

Zari’s voice is disbelieving. Mick can’t blame her. In fact, they’re all staring at John Constantine in varying degrees of disbelief, because no matter how many of these mythological whatsits they deal with, it will never stop being weird.

Well. Most of them. Charlie just nods. But then, Charlie is a sort of amazing being herself, and she sometimes seems to forget that she doesn’t have easy access to her dragon form here.

“Isn’t that...some sort of evil organization?” Haircut asks, looking around. “I thought...”

Constantine shrugs. “That sort does like its creature names, but no. Not in this universe, anyway.” He turns away before any of them can continue that line of questioning. “They’re bad enough, let me tell you. Reptilian critters. They have nine heads and, just like the stories say, if you cut off one, two grow back.”

Sara closes her eyes in a “give me strength” sort of expression. The captain is leaning against the holotable, on which Gideon is now projecting an artist’s rendition of a hydra, and Mick can’t say he blames her, either.

“OK,” she says then, opening her eyes. “Where and when is it? I’ll set the course, and then we can start talking about a plan.”

Constantine gives her a wary look. “Well, that’s not all. They’re resistant to magic. In fact, they’re attracted to it.” He steadfastly ignores Sara’s sigh. “And, their blood is poisonous, deadly poisonous. Even if you only get a whiff of it. So, no blades, luv,” he says, pointing at Sara. “Sorry. I do know you love your pointy objects.”

Sara’s even louder sigh is drowned out, though, by Haircut, who’s perked up.

“Fire,” he says, looking over at Mick with a grin. “That’s what Hercules used. In the stories. He did cut the heads off, but then cauterized them with fire.”

Constantine points at him. "Bingo. Whatever removes the head without actual bloodshed. I mean, you need to take precautions just in case, but better if they’re not needed.”

“And ice,” Snart interjected laconically. “Frozen things smash.”

Mick notices him idly rubbing his right wrist as he speaks. Ah, damn. He still can’t believe the bastard did that, smashed his own hand off, whether it was to keep him from killing the Legends or keep the Legends from killing him.

“So where are these things?” he cuts in as the old guilt surges. “I want to burn something.”

Constantine nods to him. “1958 small-town Pennsylvania,” he says, leaning on the table himself as a map appears. “Out in the sticks, fortunately.” He points to a random plot of green on the grid. “We got a breeding pair here in the hills. Need to banish them—or better yet, just dispose of them—before we get a mess of baby hydras. No one wants that.”

Mick thinks later that he should have known at that moment that things were going to go sideways.

* * *

They have a good plan when they land just outside Benjamin, Pennsylvania. Even Mick thinks so. Sara had taken the newer capabilities of both his and Snart’s guns into consideration (with much consultation with Snart, a fact no one missed) and, with Constantine’s information on the habits of hydras, concocted a plan of attack that involved luring the pair of hydras out of hiding and into the line of fire.

And since Constantine had come to them, and hydras were both resistant to and attracted to magic, _he_ got to play bait.

“I’m not going to make one of the others do it when you’re so perfectly suited,” Sara had told him mock-innocently when he’d objected. “You can throw a little magic around, draw them out. We’ll protect you.”

Constantine complained and Constantine sulked, but then Constantine did as told. While Charlie stayed by the ship (so no residual aura of dragon could scare off the smaller hydras), the others split into teams of Leonard and Sara, Mick and Zari, and Ray and Nate, one for each hydra and a “utility infielder” sort of pair. Each team has one person who can provide some sort of hydra-vanquishing firepower (or ice power, as it were) and one as, well, a hydra-herder.

Then Constantine saunters out into the field, gives them all a long-suffering look, and throws a fireball into the air.

It’s magical fire, not real, but that’s the idea. As the sparks rain down around him, he folds his arms, turns to face the others, and scowls at them.

And then there’s a hissing noise from the hill behind him.

The creature that emerges isn’t quite as big as they’ve been warned it could be, but it’s big enough. It’s a muddy green color, with four stumpy legs off a body that looks a little like an alarmingly large alligator, and its tail is lashing back and forth with what seems to be ire at its visitors.

And so are the nine sinuous necks that emerge from where the creature’s head would usually be.

“Whoa,” Haircut breathes. Nate’s jaw drops. “Where’s Percy Jackson when you need him?” he yells, looking around as if the fictional demigod is going to appear out of nowhere. (For all Mick knows, he could. No weirder than murderous garden gnomes now, is it?)

(What? He reads.)

Fictional characters aside, though, Mick swears at the sight of the thing. His gun is already primed, but he raises it then, trading glances with Zari and looking over at Sara. The captain is watching the monster calmly. Snart, his own gun primed, is at her side. Then she looks at Mick and nods.

That’s all he needs.

Zari throws her hands in the air and then buffets the creature with a gust of wind, distracting it, while Mick runs for its other side. He raises his gun and aims for the leftmost several heads, firing and grinning as they crisp and the thing howls, other heads whipping his way. But then Zari’s fanning the flames, and Mick ducks to the other side, and Haircut’s firing at one of the heads with his suit’s blasters, and...

Mick hears Constantine yelling and, out of the corner of his eye, sees the other hydra coming. But then he hears the whine of Snart’s gun and Sara’s crisp voice and...they know their business. He has his own, right now.

In the end, it doesn’t take so long, really. There are two dead monsters, with some combination of 18 heads charred, blasted, or frozen and shattered. Mick prods one with a boot, then raises his gun and, at a nod from Sara, sets them on fire. Constantine had said the best way to dispose of them was to burn it all, which should even negate the poison.  They’ve already churned up the dirt so much here that the blaze shouldn’t spread, but he’ll keep an eye on it.

He’s come a long way from the man who wanted to watch the world burn. He doesn’t even want these hills to go up. People live ‘round here.

Constantine wanders over, studying the burning corpses, then turns to peer in the direction the second hydra had come from.

“The female came from a cave over there,” he says, nodding. “ ’Cross the field. If they have a nest, that’s where it would be.” He shrugs. “There might be eggs; there might be babies, though that’s less likely. Either way, cold will do for them.”

Snart rolls his eyes but holsters his gun again and starts that way. Sara falls into step with him. Mick smirks, then looks over at Ray, who’s removed his helmet and part of his suit, tinkering with something. “You OK there, Haircut?”

The other man nods. “Yeah.” He glances up, a little sheepish. “That thing caught me with its tail, sent me sprawling. Going to have to fix the propulsion system.”

“Well, at least you didn’t get chomped.”

“Yeah,” Nate says with a grin, joining them. “I can’t believe it. A plan actually went...according to plan!”

Mick groans. “Don’t _say_ that kinda thing, Pretty!”

“What?”

“You’ve been part of this team long enough to...”

That’s when they hear it.

It sounds like…hissing. Higher pitched than before, but louder, as if it’s coming from more throats, even though it seems farther away. Mick, frowning, turns, and bumps into Constantine, who’s staring at the hill where he’d sent Sara and Snart.

Mick looks too. Then he squints.

Some of the greenery on the hill, it’s...moving?

He realizes what’s going on at the same moment Constantine curses. “It’s a damned nest!” the warlock yells. “And those aren’t babies, they’re half grown!”

“Are you tellin’ me those are teenage hydras?” Mick bellows, drawing his gun again and taking a few steps. But he already knows he can’t make it there in time. None of them are going to be able to get there in time. Especially not with Haircut’s suit on the fritz.

Mick sees Sara and Snart, visible near the faint dark cave opening at the bottom, look at each other, sees them both draw weapons, and then...

Then the swarm is on them, and they’re fighting.

Mick knows that they’ve been training together again. Actually training rather than “training,” too, because the one time Constantine had interrupted them in the training room, he’d gotten an eyeful of no more than two fully clothed people experimenting with how Snart’s new cold gun worked and the best ways of utilizing it in battle.

(And then Sara had gleefully decided that the warlock needed a little more physical conditioning if he was going to run with the Legends. Constantine had limped about complaining for days, gotten off the ship again as soon as humanly possible, and only returned when he needed the Legends to help take care of another myth-turned-real.)

Still, this is the first chance anyone’s had to see what that training might be amounting to.

They’ve backed up to a sheer incline, and Snart’s shooting one critter after another, keeping the heads back, as Sara smashes them as soon as she can. She’s moving in her usual graceful fashion, like it’s a dance, and they’re working together, like they can read each other’s minds, and damn, that’s a pretty picture.

Even though he knew the swarm would descend before they arrived, Mick’s crossed the field anyway, but it’s almost as though stepping in at this point would mess up the dynamic, so he waits, watching, to see if he needs to help. The others skid to a halt near him, all of them staring.

Just in time to see the maneuver that ends the battle.

Mick hears Sara yell something, sees Snart nod, and then sees something pretty amazing. Amazinger. More amazing.

Sara steps back. Snart ducks, going to a knee, but then he slides something on his gun and raises it, pulling the trigger. A spray of blue emits, fanning out a lot farther than the blast of the cold gun usually does, and Snart holds it rock steady--even as Sara steps up, planting a foot on his shoulder, and uses it as a springboard to launch herself forward, into the air….and sweep her bo across as the blue light dies, smashing at least 16 hydra heads into icy shards as she explodes through them, landing neatly on the ground.

Nothing else moves.

Sara lowers her bo. Snart holsters his gun in one smooth motion. And then they look at each other.

Damn.

Zari shakes her head, stepping up on Mick’s left side.

“I feel like I should either applaud or tell them to get a room,” she whispers. “Maybe both?”

Mick doesn’t have words. He just nods.

Constantine wanders up on the other side. Even the unflappable warlock is, well, flapped.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters. “I didn’t even take part in that and I feel like _I_ need a cig.”

They watch as Sara and Snart head their way. They’re both ruffled, but they’re side by side, and Mick doesn’t think it’s his imagination that they’re walking more closely than usual. Sara smirks at them, but Snart manages to maintain his usual cool expression…but Mick, at least, notes a certain gleam in his eye.

Constantine clears his throat.

“I don’t say stuff like this casually, you two,” he says. “But that was...amazing.”

Sara laughs, then, looking around.

“It was, wasn’t it?” she says, a smile tugging at her lips. “C’mon, team. Let’s get home.”

* * *

It’s just the aftermath of one mission out of many, but their get-together afterward feels like a victory feast, probably because they all suspect there was no way they should have been able to walk away from a confrontation with nine hydras, even if seven of them were only partly grown. Especially with their mission accomplished and no real casualties.

Constantine had stayed behind to make sure there was no further cleanup work to do. He’ll turn up at some point, Mick knows, probably with his eager buddy from the Time Bureau, and try to drag them into new trouble (probably succeeding) and resolve his wager. Maybe Mick will even try to make the pair in question ‘fess up, just because it seems a bit ridiculous to even pretend there’s nothing going on there.

Even now, right there in the galley, with the whole Waverider team present, there’s tension.

Oh, it’s not a bad tension. Not now. Snart’s leaning back in a chair at the table, balanced in a way that should probably have him crashing to the floor if he wasn’t, well, Snart. He’s not even looking at Blondie, who’s checked her hip against the counter and is talking to Nate, who seems to be blathering on about monsters throughout history, and which ones might be real, and how he wants to write a paper and other such nonsense.

But they’re clearly aware…no, _aware_ …of each other. Even Mick, who knows perfectly well he tends to be oblivious to some things, can see that. Every once in a while, they glance at each other, and…yeah.

Finally, Sara makes a noise of contentment. She glances around the room, and while her eyes don’t particularly land on Snart, Mick’s pretty sure no one misses the smile that touches her lips as her gaze slides past him.

“Well,” she says, stretching. “It’s been fun, celebrating a clear victory for once, but I’m beat. We’ll stay in the timestream for a bit, at least until something else presents itself or John turns up again like a bad penny.”

She pauses, then meets Mick’s eyes. “You have the ship,” she informs him. “OK? For at least a few hours. I need the rest.”

He nods, but Sara barely seems to notice. Turning, she gives Snart a long look. He returns it, expressionless. And then Sara turns and walks away, toward her room.

For a long moment, the galley is quiet and relatively still. Snart takes another sip of his scotch. Ray gives Mick a look that’s frankly a bit distressed. Nate becomes preoccupied by his napkin, and Zari stuffs a miniature éclair in her mouth.

Charlie looks back and forth between them all, confusion on her face. And then, before Mick even realizes what she’s going to do, she speaks up.

“Aren’t you going to go after her?” she asks, looking at Snart. “Because you really should. Even I can see that.”

Nate chokes on a drink, much like he had back when this all started, and Zari closes her eyes. Ray looks like he’d wished he’d said it first. Mick stifles a sigh.

But Snart actually gives Charlie a slight smile. He looks down, considering his drink, then nods, tossing it back before sitting the glass down and climbing to his feet.

“I believe,” he tells her, “that you’re entirely correct.”

And then he smirks at Micks, nods to the others, and saunters after Sara.

The silence lasts a beat or two past when he’s moved out of sight, and then more than one person lets out an explosive sigh. Zari shakes her head and reaches for another eclair, and Ray and Nate exchange glances, smirking.

Charlie cocks her head to the side and then grins at Mick, pleased with her own actions. And Mick, after a moment, gives her a smile in return.

He just really hopes those two don’t fuck this up.

“All right, then,” he says, getting up himself. Time to switch to coffee, if he has the ship. “Anyone want something else to drink?”


End file.
